Deep in the Night
by l.h.o.o.q
Summary: Two friends, their unresolved feelings, and unfortunate remembrances.


I would like to dedicate this, despite your preference in fiction, to anyone who has ever gone through the familiar process of writing and revision; those of us that wait to work until some ungodly hour, and a few special friends who know who they are.

Lastly: Any constructive criticism you may have would be truly appreciated. 

So, so many memories in a lifetime, and only certain ones are unconsciously and blessedly repressed.

Gradually, any thoughts conflicting with the moment were swept away with a subtle, damp heat to his temple, far more gentle and flowing than a migraine. It was a pair of familiar lips administering to him a very sentimental kiss, one of the first of countless to come, if he would just turn to face him.

It had been too long.

Slender fingers adorned with sterling silver were reaching out to him in near-childish wonder, inquisitive tips just brushing the apple of his cheek. Too slow to brush his lips against them, they moved, sliding down to cup his chin firmly, repositioning a lover's kiss to his lips, working them as though he were trying to lend some warmth that would melt away the coldness of too much thought. He made it plausible, un-selfish, so easy to become lost, enveloped in the moment, the warmth of the night.

Pink lips purred quietly as the attention that had been denied to their owner was finally returned, his form stretched out as languidly as their kissing, resting comfortably naked, a slender waist encased in stronger arms that tightened around him in the growing heat of the moment. It had been a long time since they had touched or connected in any way. So very long.

The blond had always been so busy; the blond was always planning; the blond had an agenda for the day and could stay up until ungodly hours of the night, but he couldn't find the time for a glance, a few meaningful words past a greeting. Not even perhaps a personal comment on new lyrics, and finally, a simple flight across the ocean. 

None of these thoughts came to mind, now. All was how it should have been, how it is when two lives sincerely connect.

And so blue eyes regained their sparkle towards his blond, forgiving him, smiling along with the rest of his body in loving friendship.

Ryuichi couldn't smile forever.

Russet eyelashes were fluttering closed again in pleasure as his lover tongued curiously, playfully at one of his delicate earrings; he sighed instead, the urge to laugh leaving him as a soft tongue traveled boldly, yet gently, venturing lower. Within minutes, rich bangs were tossed and tussled upon a near-feverish forehead and soft melodic sounds were pressed past his parted lips.

And tonight, his blond was content to have him, listen to the rich timbre of his voice, to taste the warm, soft skin; impossibly soft skin; licking, lapping, and pressing warm open mouthed kisses over and over.

Soft, beautiful, safe Ryuichi, who was his secret and his alone.

Who had died alone.

Memory came rushing back as the softness of his secret lover's white underbelly became matte, grayed, cooling and firming so suddenly it was near painful under his lips.

Yet again, the blonde quickly pushed himself up, hands sinking into the mattress and muscles taut in all too familiar horror, unable to do anything but watch as all words failed them and dull blue eyes cried to him in silent anguish, clouding in a milky hue before closing forever; all breathing had ceased.

This last haunting sight of the ridiculous reoccurring dream faded as Tohma's reddened eyes opened, proving him to be awake and in his own bed. A cautious glance, lulling of his head to the side to the side proved his lovely wife still comfortably asleep next to him, and he found himself turning his sweaty back to her, closing his eyes in a feeble attempt to will away this night time memory, to prevent it at the very least.

There should be no fear of falling asleep once more. What fear was there in witnessing death, if Ryuichi-san, who had fallen prey to its icy grasp, hadn't shown any outward signs of fear, himself?

He had chosen to suffer in quiet illness. Tohma had been far too busy to notice, too far away.

Fleeting trips across the ocean after their time together in Japan had not been enough. Quietly, unobtrusively, Ryuichi-san had allowed himself to become lost to him and everyone else.

There was a shuddering breath and a shake of his head with the finality of his end, the end to the affair and-

No, no more sleep for tonight. No more involuntary replaying of that night, his own personal nightmare and reliving that last trip to America, where limber arms had wrapped around his neck, long legs circled firmly over his hips, and a delicate nose had snuggled warmly into his neck in greeting. No more vivid blue eyes he had felt watch him all the way to the taxi that had taken him back to the airport and from there, Japan.

Not another reminder of who had never been his to lose.


End file.
